Winter's Light
by thelionhuntress
Summary: Hermione, fresh out of graduate school, is the new Hogwarts librarian. Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione finds herself forming new alliances and rekindling old ones in the aftermath of the war.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

Research, Hermione Granger found, was the solution to nightmares.

Staying up into the night writing and rewriting proposals to journals and conferences resulted in a deeper, dreamless sleep, free from the images of darkness that crept into her mind, stealing her breath and pinning her limbs to the bed.

Luckily, college at Oxford—and subsequently, graduate school—was full of workaholics who stayed up late with notes spread around them. No one questioned her constant presence in the student union and in the university's gorgeous libraries. Being around others kept the demons at bay; and, per usual, she'd always had piles of homework to do.

She'd kept the habit of pulling all-nighters even after graduation, and it served her well now as an adjunct researcher for the Ministry's Intermagical Innovations Office—a new department that researched integration of new Muggle technologies into wizarding homes. Five years ago it would have been a stretch, but as more wizards emerged from Muggle households, the divide was between their magic and non-magic lives was becoming increasingly difficult. The Ministry, in an attempt to preserve and protect the wizarding population, thought a move into the future would be a worthwhile effort. Hermione was inclined to agree; during school she'd developed a strong love for the internet and its many resources, and was reluctant to give it up should she return fully to the wizarding world.

Her brand new Master's degree in Librarianship was a bonus—she now had the freedom and skills to run libraries as she saw fit, and conduct her research without interference.

But she'd had doubts when Professor McGonagall (Minerva, she insisted on Hermione calling her now) had owled her with the job posting, looking for a new Hogwarts librarian after Madam Pince retired.

Hermione initially feared being back at Hogwarts bring back the memories of the war that continued to haunt her. Although the worst was gone, she suffered regularly from nightmares, and panic attacks that gripped her unexpectedly, and anxiety that left her with a perpetually knotted stomach. She reckoned that facing her fears could be freeing. Hadn't she learned that in Psychology 201?

She'd done well to maintain professional relations with the wizarding world even while she was at Oxford and, after that, living in a tiny flat in London while interning at the British Library, but she'd missed her fellow magical folk more than she could ever admit, even to herself.

So now, as an adult with several degrees under her belt, she found instead a new sense of comfort in the restored halls of the castle. Hermione had never told the others how sacred she found Hogwarts; like Harry, she'd found a home there, where knowledge and learning was encouraged, not mocked. But she had her own memories and favorite spots, and it was nice to be back. It was especially wonderful to explore without threat of expulsion or death.

Of course, Oxford had been a close second, but it was missing, well, the actual magic of Hogwarts.

And now she had a beautiful office with floor-to-ceiling windows, a large suite similar to those of the other Hogwarts faculty, and the beloved Hogwarts library all hers now, just begging to be dusted and re-catalogued.

Unfortunately, the many late nights meant that Hermione was often tired during the day. And on a rainy afternoon in early October, Hermione was fast asleep on her desk.

* * *

><p>A sharp thud on her window abruptly pulled her out of her slumber.<p>

Hermione sat up suddenly, swiping her arm across her desk. A teacup fell to the floor and shattered, spilling tea on a pile of notes.

"Damn it," she muttered, waving her wand casually. The broken shards flew back together, and the newly whole teacup rose and sat on her desk. Another flick of her wand dried the dripping parchment.

_Thud. Thud thud_. A brown owl tapped its beak against her window, a large parcel dangling from its tiny feet.

"Alright, alright!" she said, opening the window. The owl tumbled onto her desk, its wet feathers dousing her face with rain. She felt her unruly hair matted to her cheek, and impatiently brushed it back from her forehead.

Hermione quickly untied the parcel, and fished in the top drawer of her desk for an owl biscuit.

"Go by the fire," she said as the owl nipped gratefully at the treat and hobbled to the fireplace. The owl perched itself on the mantle and, a moment later, fell asleep.

Hermione picked up the parcel and weight it in her palm—books. Of course. She smiled, and smiled wider when she recognized the address written in none other than Harry Potter's handwriting. She'd recognize that chicken scratch penmanship anywhere.

Excited to hear from her old friend, she ripped open the package. The corners of the books were damp and starting to curl in. She raised an eyebrow at the titles—_Moonlit Forest, A Dance with Desire, Bewitching Hour,_ all with covers featuring scantily clad men and women embracing in dramatic poses.

A folded note slid off the top.

"Dear Hermione,

_How are you? I heard about your new position at Hogwarts. Congratulations! I'm slightly envious that you're living there now. I bet your quarters are stunning. Hopefully the new job suits you well. I'm sure the students will appreciate having a, well, younger presence around the library._

_Ginny thought you might want to add these books to your collection—you know her, she's not much of a romantic. They were gifts from her mum while she was in bed rest. Now that the baby's here I think she's had quite enough romance for some time. Unfortunate for me, of course, but little Leo sure is cute. I've sent you some photos—"_

Several photographs were included in the letter—Harry holding his new son Leo, whose jet black hair resembled his father's; Ginny waving from the hospital bed, looking radiant and relieved; and a closeup of Leo, his big dark eyes gazing at the camera.

Hermione pulled a jar of thumbtacks from her desk and pinned the photos next to those of her parents. She grinned in disbelief that Harry was now a father.

She read the rest of the letter.

_"Have you spoken to Ron? He stopped by to bring a baby gift for Leo. Mentioned something about a job opening at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Said he was tired of being out on the field. Looks like you'll both be on our old stomping grounds._

_Hope you're doing well. Write soon! Perhaps over Thanksgiving break you can come visit us. Ginny sends her love, too._

_Harry_

_P.S._

_Given the nature of these novels, they should probably be put in the restricted section. Just a suggestion."_

Hermione's stomach clenched into a bundle of nerves. Ron was coming _here_? To work? She sighed and felt both slightly queasy and guilty. They hadn't necessarily parted on good terms. It'd been—what, five years? As if she didn't know, hadn't been subconsciously keeping track all this time. Although she'd known logically that it was only a matter of time before she'd see him, she figured it would be on her own terms. Whatever those would be, and sometime far, far in an undetermined future.

A clock chimed in the library. 5 o'clock already? Supper would be starting soon. As if on cue, her stomach growled. She stood up and stretched her arms above her head. The owl was fast asleep on the mantle, and she added another log to the fire. She let her hands linger in the warmth. These autumn nights were getting cooler, and a trip to Hogsmeade for some new sweaters was in order.

As she headed down to the dining hall she contemplated bringing dinner back to her office. She needed to be alone to figure out how she'd handle being around Ron. When is he coming? she wondered. And besides, she had several charts of data due to the Ministry by the end of the month that needed revising. She hoped a hot stew was being served for dinner… and maybe she could sneak up a flask of brandy… for warmth, of course…

She was so lost in thought that she ran straight into Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

"Malfoy!" Hermione said, stepping back and nearly tripping over her own feet. Malfoy didn't flinch. She suddenly felt sheepish and small. "What are you doing here?" Anger flared within her, toppled then by curiosity.

Draco Malfoy was here, roaming freely in Hogwarts' halls. She wasn't sure if she was OK with that, but reasoned that it wasn't her call to make. Apparently, the wizarding world had decided some time ago that he wasn't a threat.

"Granger," Draco responded, nodding curtly. The hallway outside the dining hall was dimly lit, but Hermione could see that he was dressed in a simple but tailored set of black robes, with a fine red stitching. "I'm here to meet with Professor McGonagall. I presume that shouldn't be a problem?"

She pursed her lips and contemplated a response, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. "I suppose not. I just haven't seen you since, well, the—"

"War?" he said. His eyes flashed darkly, and the corner of his mouth twitched unpleasantly. "Yes, well. After Father died, Mother and I tried our best to—make amends with the wizarding world."

If she didn't know any better, Hermione would say he was blushing with shame. Hermione was struck suddenly by his humility—she'd never, ever seen such a trait in Draco. The war certainly changed us all, she thought. It wasn't easy for any of us.

She felt simultaneously furious and sympathetic.

She'd always been far more sympathetic toward him than either Ron or Harry, a trait often misunderstood for passivity rather than compassion. As a child, she'd known kids born into abusive homes, how it shaped their perspective on the world even at a young age. It was hard to change that kind of deeply rooted aggression. But around their sixth year, that sympathy had been edged out by anger-anger at those who were too weak to stand up for what was right. Anger that her teen years and schooling were being pushed aside for war; angry at the unnecessary blood feud that Malfoy and his comrades perpetuated. She'd never understood their stake in it anyway.

There would never be any excuse for his behavior, terrible upbringing or not. The brief moment of sympathy she was feeling also didn't excuse the many times Malfoy had tormented her in class or in the hall. Recalling the times he'd spat Mudblood at her made her chest seize up.

But there was something about Malfoy's stiff and insecure demeanor that made her understand his snotty behavior in a way she hadn't before. _It's not like he was the only person who ever bullied me,_ she thought, recalling Severus Snape, who'd arguably been worse toward her even though he was a professor. And besides, Malfoy had Lucius Malfoy for a father. Being back out in the Muggle world for so long had made her far more critical about the upbringing of young wizards.

She favored civility, even if she didn't entirely mean it. Politeness went a long way, even with former enemies—at least, that's what her grandmother always said. "I'm glad to see you're doing well, Draco," she replied earnestly, as his face blanched at her use of his first name, and continued toward the Great Hall.

"Granger—er, Hermione," Draco called after her. She stopped and turned toward him. "I—um," he looked down at his shoes. "Um. You too."

* * *

><p><em>Well, that could have been worse<em>, thought Draco Malfoy, as he watched Hermione Granger walk away. He'd been nervous about running into his former classmates, expecting hexes and insults thrown his way. He couldn't blame them even if they did—his family had supported one of the worst wizards in history, caused the deaths of hundreds of innocent wizards. They'd been on the wrong side, and it would take a lifetime at least to atone for that.

Plus, he'd been an awful prat during his time at Hogwarts.

But Draco would never admit to anyone that his time at Hogwarts was the scariest time of his life. What young boy wouldn't be frightened at frequent face-to-face meetings with Voldemort? At the threats from his father? The pressure to do horrible, hurtful, violent things?

Although he knew it didn't forgive his actions, he knew that fear had motivated much of his aggression.

But after Harry destroyed Voldemort, Draco and his mother sat in silence for days in their empty manor. Draco had been sick with guilt, tormented by it. He found himself shaking at the dinner table, unable to hold a cup or a fork. How could he have been so stupid? So blind to his father's prejudice? Draco had believed in it, too, idolizing his father—until he saw the bloodshed firsthand.

He'd been given a way out—by Dumbledore, by Snape—and he'd turned them away in the name of upholding his family's name. A name now synonymous with hate.

It was only after months visiting his mother's therapist at St. Mungo's therapy branch that Draco was able to come to terms with what he'd done. His mother vowed to dedicate herself to charity work.

As for Draco, he decided to get a degree.

Eager to delve into school in a way he never could at Hogwarts—and mercifully saved by the good grades he'd managed to obtain—he was accepted into a small, private wizarding college in Budapest, where he studied History of Magic. It was his hope that he could educate students on the many years of oppression and marginalized people and creatures throughout wizarding history. It helped that he had a bit of anonymity there; although the wizarding war impacted international wizards, they weren't quite as familiar with who was on which side.

This allowed him to blend in, for once, in a way he never had before. He grew his hair out and grew a beard, and even contemplated changing his name. But he knew that would be a cop out. A lifetime of living with it would serve as penance.

"Understanding the past helps us change the future," his professor had said. Draco took this to heart.

And, much to his surprise, Professor McGonagall—Minerva, she asked him to call her now, but he wasn't sure he could yet—had owled him during his second year of teaching introductory history at Durmstrang, inviting him back to Hogwarts. On a whim, he accepted the invitation to reform Slytherin house, a house left in shame and shambles after the war.

_It's time to reunite Hogwart's houses,_ Professor McGonagall had written. _This is your chance to make a difference._

Of course he'd run headfirst into Hermione Granger on his first day back. But the encounter had been pleasant enough, and he'd heard she'd taken over Madam Pince's job. She looked much the same, of course, but older, less soft. Adulthood didn't change her most familiar features, but she seemed to grow into them. She'd pinned her hair back, but he could tell from the way it struggled to pull loose from the pins that it was still a curly mop she struggled to deal with. It was a surprisingly effective look for a young librarian.

And that smile, the same in most ways, but more sure now—revealing white, even teeth behind a lovely mouth. Academia suited her. And the lack of sarcasm that had normally plagued their brief interactions certainly helped.

_Merlin's beard_, he thought. _Am I actually thinking about Hermione Granger?_ He chuckled to himself. He'd changed, that's for sure, but he wasn't sure he'd changed that much.

But even as he headed toward Minerva's office, he couldn't get that smile out of his head. It was a smile of forgiveness. A second chance.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Ron Weasley ran a hand through his unwashed hair and tossed a shirt toward the open suitcase on his bed. But he missed, and it instead hit the sleeping young woman underneath his covers.

She stirred awake, and sat up, long blonde hair falling over her naked shoulders. "What time is it?" she asked, groggy.

"8 p.m.," he responded. "I need to get going soon. You need money for a cab?"

The woman shook her head and slid out of bed, pulling on her jeans, shirt and jacket. With her shoes in her hand, she walked toward him and draped an arm over his shoulder.

"Thanks for the fun weekend, love," she breathed into his ear. Her breath smelled like vodka, and Ron resisted the urge to flinch. "Call me next time you're in town."

He nodded but avoided her eyes. "Uh, yeah, sure," he muttered.

She kissed his cheek and walked out of his room. He waited until he heard his apartment door shut before sitting on his bed and putting his head in his hands.

He was immediately grateful for the solitude. The blonde was the third girl he'd brought home this week. It wasn't an unusual pattern for him—frequent traveling meant new cities, new bars, new women to meet and fuck and leave.

But it felt different this time and he knew why. He was about to see Hermione Granger for the first time in five years.

One on hand, he was very much looking forward to being back at Hogwarts. Being an Auror was thrilling, that's for sure, but it was also dangerous and exhausting. For once, Ron just wanted to stay in one place for a while, and was thankful Professor McGonagall offered him the job at Hogwarts, set to start in the spring term when Professor Levya—the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a witch from Russia—would leave for a two-year sabbatical tracking giants in Sweden.

The next few months would give him time to wrap up his report on his latest case, a gang of Summus dealers he'd been busting all over Europe. Summus was nasty stuff, a drug made from the sap of slender white trees found in the forests of Romania. Ingested by brewing it as a tea, it slowed down time for the user, which made it especially useful for thieves. But it also rotted your teeth.

He'd finally taken down the last of the dealers a week prior in an underground Dublin pub. A difficult firefight had ensued, but Ron was especially good at shield charms, and the Imperius curse the dealer cast had bounced straight off, ricocheting right back at him. From there it was a cakewalk. _Easy to bind someone when you can tell them to put their hands behind their back_, Ron thought.

The take-down was satisfying, but with Harry—his partner—on paternity leave, Ron was lonely. Hogwarts was as good a place as any to regroup.

Plus, if he was honest with himself, he really missed the food.

But he couldn't admit to himself that he missed Hermione. Hell, he didn't even know anything about her life now. At this point, Ron wasn't even sure if he did miss her, or if he was just angry with her—angry that she'd chosen to leave him when he needed her most.

* * *

><p><em>It was August, just months after the battle, and they were in her old bedroom at her parents' house. She'd been packing her duffel bag, putting books in and taking them out. She'd been pacing the room.<em>

_"I love you, Ron, but I have to think about my future," she'd said._

_"Think of all we've been through together," he'd shouted in return. He'd been shaking, on the verge of sobbing. "You're just going to leave after all this?"_

_"That's exactly why I have to leave, Ron!" she said. "I'm 18 years old. I've spent the last few years following you and Harry around to make sure you didn't get yourselves killed!"_

_"We saved the world, Hermione!" At this point he had grabbed her by the shoulders. "No one else will ever know what you've been through more than me!"_

_"Ron, it's just college," she said quietly. "It's Oxford! I can't turn that down."_

_"It's Muggle college!" he said, trembling. "You'll be surrounded by strangers!"_

_"It's a new start for me, Ron." She lowered his hands away from her shoulders. "I need this. I need some—normalcy." Her face was covered with tears. "You need to think about yourself, and your career—don't you want to be an Auror? What about your future?"_

_"My future doesn't exist without you in it," he'd said._

* * *

><p>That had been their last exchange. And for the past five years it haunted Ron every night.<p>

He was ready for Hogwarts, but he wasn't ready to face Hermione again. After all I've been through in five years, you'd think I'd be braver, he thought. I was never strong when it came to Hermione.

An hour passed before Ron finally stood up and slammed his suitcase shut.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Hermione nearly spilled a canteen of hot stew on herself as she tried to open the door to her suite, her hands full with the dinner the house elves had packed for her downstairs. Her room, rather than her office, would give her more privacy, she figured. And she really needed a place to think.

She refused to let the house elves deliver dinner straight to her room, resentful that Hogwarts still permitted what she considered to be house elf slavery, but permitted them to fetch her to-go containers. They'd also brought Hermione a platter of macarons, which she gleefully accepted.

But about halfway to her room, she was regretting asking for a bag, too. With the containers tucked under her chin, she reached into her pocket for her wand and muttered, "Alohomora." After a moment, the handle swung open, and she freed her hands, setting out on her desk the various containers: beef stew, warm rolls, and a thermos of ice cold pumpkin juice. And of course, the macarons, on which Hermione could hardly stop herself from nibbling.

Hermione was off for the weekend, and thoroughly looking forward to having a few days off to process the news she'd been given today about Ron's impending arrival. She had some reading to do for an upcoming project for the IIO, some charts to format, and she desperately needed to go shopping—especially since she'd just been told by Minerva about the upcoming Halloween ball, which would also be a five-year reunion party for the students of her year. That was another event to think about; it'd been several years since she'd seen most of the wizarding population.

After years of priding herself on being low-maintenance, Hermione had eventually wised up to the necessity of a simple and effective beauty routine. She'd spent her teen years in understated robes, her hair in wild disarray. After going to conferences, defenses and job interviews, she preferred to have a few nice outfits on hand, and appreciated techniques to keep her hair in its natural state but out of the way.

But now, she was ready to stuff her face with dinner and snuggle up into bed with her new fluffy gray feline, Penelope. She'd adopted Penelope after her parents took Crookshanks in when she went off to college—it was harder for him to move at his old age, and she thought it best for him to live out his days with her parents. Neither the cat nor her parents seemed to mind the arrangement.

Penelope gave a cheerful mew when Hermione crossed the room to pet her. Hermione had a very strict routine at the end of the day—greet Penelope, change into pajamas, wash her face and pin her hair up.

She did these tasks quickly and sat down at her desk, piling food onto a plate. She bit into a garlic role and sighed blissfully—after several years of dormitory food, even at Oxford, she vowed never to take Hogwarts' feasts for granted again.

After eating her fill—and letting Penelope nibble on some green beans—Hermione settled into bed early. With Penelope purring against her stomach, Hermione quickly drifted into a restless sleep.

* * *

><p>She awoke early on Saturday, feeble rays of sunlight streaming through a gray sky. With her luck, it wouldn't rain until the afternoon, allotting Hermione several leisurely hours for shopping.<p>

Penelope nuzzled against her neck, and Hermione savored the comfort for several minutes before sliding out from under the warm blankets to take a shower.

She stretched, arms extended above her head, and stripped her pajamas on the way to the bathroom. She had a headache that only coffee would fix. And there was a new café in Hogsmeade she'd been meaning to try—apparently they made the best pumpkin spice latte this side of Scotland.

The shower started automatically when Hermione opened the bathroom door to the stone chamber, and within seconds the room was full of jasmine-scented steam. Hermione _adored_ this bathroom; it reminded her of the prefect's bathroom when she was a student, but this one she had all to herself. The ceilings were high and arched, with a window above the bathtub, placed to ensure privacy but also to allow natural light to stream into the room. The sink and counter were dark and marbled and wide, and Hermione took great care to select the most beautiful soaps and toiletries to adorn it. It was her secret guilty pleasure.

Hermione stepped into the warm stream of water, her muscles relaxing in the heat. Without opening her eyes, she placed her hand under the shampoo dispenser. A dollop dispensed into her hand and she ran it through her hair, shaking off the grime of sleep.

Showering was such a luxury, she thought, and this bathroom was certainly luxurious with a stone floor that warmed under her feet, an endless supply fluffy fresh towels, and soaps and lotions in her favorite scents—lavendar, jasmine, vanilla, mint.

Ron always smelled like mint. She wasn't a dentists' daughter for nothing; the smell of mint provoked strong but pleasant memories. Memories of kissing Ron… his breath on her neck, the inside of her thigh…

Her hand—a moment ago lathering soap on her shoulders—began to inch its way down her torso at the thought.

She stopped abruptly, feeling foolish.

_Get a grip, Hermione!_ she told herself sternly. _He is just a man. He was once your best friend, besides Harry. You're unraveling and he isn't even here yet._

Hermione rinsed off quickly and stepped out into the foggy bathroom. She needed a walk in the brisk October air to clear her head.

When she stepped out of the shower, Penelope was perched on a pile of warm blankets. She cocked her head at Hermione.

"Don't you start with me," she told the cat.

An hour later and Hermione was dressed in her coziest autumn clothing under her standard black robe; a V-neck black sweater with thumbholes on the ends of the sleeves, a simple blue skirt and red stockings. She placed a wet kiss on Penelope's small forehead, and grabbed her canvas bookbag and her Gryffindor scarf before heading out.

One of Hermione's favorite privileges as a Hogwarts faculty member was the freedom to visit Hogsmeade anytime she wanted. This privilege was especially lovely when there weren't dozens of students meandering around the town. She liked to keep her personal life private from the students. She might be a librarian, but she refused to fall into the stereotype of being a frumpy, bespectacled cat lady.

The crisp autumn air eased Hermione's throbbing head, and she tried to think logically about the "Ron situation," as she'd come to call it. She approached everything in her life with logic.

Unnecessary emotional baggage just didn't have a place in her data-driven life. But she knew she was better at maintaining that on the outside; truthfully, her stomach was a ball of nerves.

There was no reason they couldn't get along and be civil, maybe even be friends again. For all she knew, she tried to justify to herself, he was seeing someone and had moved on.

_But Harry would have said so in a letter, right?_

_That's irrelevant, Granger._

As she argued with herself, her temples throbbed.

_Coffee first._

The new café, Wolf and Fox, was situated in central Hogsmeade. Hermione nearly salivated at the scent of warm poppyseed muffins when she entered the cafe—she ordered one to go, and a large pumpkin latte with an extra shot of espresso. Sitting on the bench in front of the dress shop, the brisk wind pushing her braided hair off her shoulders, she started to feel like herself again with something in her stomach and a jolt of caffeine shaking her out of her dilemma.

_This is nothing you can't handle,_ she told herself in her best rallying inner-voice. _You fought in a war. You graduated from college. Hell, you successfully published a Master's thesis. And this is what gets you worked up? A relationship that ended over five years ago? With someone you've known since you were 11?_

She stood up defiantly and tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash can. Resolute in her ability to suppress old romantic turmoil, she walked into the dress shop, determined to find the most Hermione-esque dress in existence for the upcoming Halloween reunion ball.


End file.
